


antithesis

by tonyang (kurusui)



Category: PRISTIN (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26136985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurusui/pseuds/tonyang
Summary: Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. At the time it sort of felt like a betrayal too, in ways Junhui didn’t know how to explain.
Relationships: Lee Jihoon | Woozi/Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Zhou Jie Qiong | Kyulkyung
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28
Collections: K-Pop Ficmix 2020





	antithesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miuyi (rainiest)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainiest/gifts).
  * Inspired by [birds of a feather](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/678133) by miuyi. 



> Disclaimer that this is in all ways a work of fiction. Thanks to k for unintentionally seeding this idea months ago, s&j for advice, s for tremendous emotional and technical support! 
> 
> It was a huge honor to remix miuyi (rainiest) for ficmix 2020 :_)

_ There’s so much I wanted to  _ [ _ hear... _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18FTS5NKCSE)

**salt is a preservative**

“She used to be on Korean television all the time,” Jihoon says in the middle of a conversation with Seungcheol that Junhui’s invading presence immediately cuts short. He pretends like he doesn’t notice, but it’s painfully obvious who Jihoon is talking about.

“Hey, Jun,” Seungcheol calls from the leather swivel chair he’s parked himself in. The studio’s coffee table is covered in trash and bottles of coke again.

“Hi,” Junhui answers, still standing in the doorway.

Jihoon motions to the other side of the room where a spare folding chair leans against the wall, but Junhui gets distracted by the keychain on the table, a miniature cassette tape he knows used to belong to someone else. Jieqiong has been absent for so long that the reminder of her ends up being a little like a punch in the gut. Junhui doesn’t want to think about it.

“What were you talking about?” Junhui asks while he grabs the chair, just to see what they’ll say.

“I think I should go to bed,” Seungcheol says, and pretends to yawn, non-confrontational bastard that he is. “Come home soon, guys.”

“Go,” Jihoon says, shooing him away with one hand. “Clean up tomorrow.” He throws a water bottle at Seungcheol, which misses. Seungcheol pretends to be offended as usual and unnecessarily hugs Junhui goodbye. 

Jihoon flops back into his seat and Junhui mirrors him with less force. “So you were saying?”

“We talked about missing people,” Jihoon says. “Wanting to see them, I mean.” 

Junhui fills in the blanks himself. “Sentimental,” he says, and smiles wide, trapezoidal. “You must have deadlines soon.”

“That’s not it,” Jihoon begins, but the rest of his sentence dissipates. “I always have deadlines.”

“I take freedom for granted, then.”

“You deserve to enjoy it” is all Jihoon replies with. Junhui frowns.

“I’ll help you. How can I help?”

“Don’t worry about it. That’ll help.”

“Uji-ya,” Junhui whines, tugging at his sleeve. Jihoon glares at him. 

“Didn’t I ask you to come here for a re-recording and not a counseling session?”

“But that’s going to take so long,” Junhui complains. “Let me have some fun first.”

“So you’re admitting this is fun.” When Junhui doesn’t respond Jihoon sighs and flips through the legal pad sitting on his desk, pen landing on a bulleted list near the margin. “Jun-ah,” he starts. “When you leave home. What do you miss more? The people or the place?”

Junhui sinks into his chair, thinking. “You can meet people from home wherever you want,” he reasons, “but you can’t bring the place anywhere else.”

Jihoon nods slowly, head in the clouds again.

Just like Jieqiong, he’s gone, gone, gone.

**the risk you take**

The thing is that it never made sense on paper, but one day Junhui turned a corner and Jieqiong’s face was so close to Jihoon’s that he smacked himself trying to cover his eyes. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. At the time it sort of felt like a betrayal too, in ways Junhui didn’t know how to explain. Jihoon was scary when they first met, but he was sort of like a clam with a hard exterior and a very soft, chewy interior. Junhui broke his way in before too long. But Jieqiong was so good at reaching out first. And— the more he thinks about it the more it really does make sense.

It might have ended like this:

“You’re always writing songs about past loves,” she accused. “Are you really thinking about other people all the time?”

“I'm a songwriter,” he retorted with, but she interrupted again.

“You write about how you feel, and it’s so sincere that it’s beautiful, but that’s only because you let the listener into your heart,” she said, and Jihoon, whose heart was unknown even to himself sometimes, could not argue back.

When they broke up, Jieqiong was rising in China, and slowly the proportion of her time that was spent in South Korea decreased until nearly all of it was spent in her homeland. Seventeen had gotten busier then too. The timing wasn’t that bad, really; if they were going to fall apart regardless, it might as well have been when it was convenient for both of them. But once in a while she would appear in the building like a ghost, haunting the halls, flooding into his dreams. And that’s how you know it’s not really over.

**in order for it to click**

“Want to go on a walk, Junhui?”

“It’s too cold,” he answers, but he pulls on a coat and follows Jihoon outside anyway out of loyalty.

“Bye,” someone yells from the other side of the apartment. Hansol and Chan are unboxing a massive haul of packages Hansol bought online and every once in a while they’d hear a whoop or cheer that would permeate through noise-cancelling headphones. It was insufferable, if only because it heightened the urge for Junhui to go online and shop for something useless himself. Hansol is influential like that.

“This winter’s been so cold,” Jihoon says, shivering when they step outside. “But it’s still not as bad as it was a few years ago. Do you remember, Junnie?”

“Yeah, I do,” he replies. If he closes his eyes he can feel the spotlight on him, cameras flashing in front as they perform Very Nice without coats in front of thousands of people. The inclement cold seeps through to his bones.

Junhui’s memory is very good when it counts. Jihoon was working hard then too, because I.O.I was about to disband and he had multiple stakes in it. Even now he’s close to those members, though it only goes so far.

There are no excuses to see her, anyway. 

“You were really noisy that day,” Jihoon is saying, and Junhui realizes he hasn’t been paying attention.

“Sorry?”

"You could stand to be a little more self-aware, Jun-ah," he says, and Junhui flinches, downcast.

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Jihoon says, blanching. “I mean. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Junhui says, blinking fast. 

Neither of them say anything for a while. Their footsteps loop back to the entrance of the apartment, and they’re getting out of the elevator when Jihoon finally asks:

“Hey, will you look at something for me before bed?”

Junhui nods and follows him to his laptop.

“Does this make any sense to you?” Jihoon asks, moving aside so Junhui can read the screen. He still squints, and Jihoon knows in an instant he’s not wearing his contacts. “You’re so lazy,” Jihoon mutters to the side, but his voice is softer than it was before.

“Not really,” Junhui answers at last, “but it sounds nice!”

“I have to add context,” Jihoon says. He leans his head against his fist, staring at the word processor. “It’s a mess.”

“I think your songs make so much more sense to people when they’re in love,” Junhui reflects. “And then you don’t need context, you just relate to it, and feel the emotions, like that.”

Jihoon laughs skeptically. “Are you in love with someone, Junnie?”

“No,” he answers, quickly and certainly. Jihoon mercifully doesn’t ask again. Jeonghan would’ve interrogated him to no end.

On a particularly vulnerable night, Junhui asks Jeonghan a question worth millions: “Why do you think Jihoon and Kyulkyung broke up?”

Jeonghan cracks open a lager and rests his free hand on his knee, next to where Junhui’s planted himself sideways on the couch, legs dangling off the edge. “You really just love opening cans of worms, hmm?”

“I just want to hear what you think,” Junhui says, resolving not to push further if Jeonghan doesn’t bite. Thankfully he knows exactly how far to go.

“Our Jihoon is just so indirect,” Jeonghan says, taking a swig. “And he’s abrasive. He’s bad at relationships where the other person doesn’t get him.”

“Kyulkyung didn’t understand him, then,” Junhui rephrases, twisting himself upright into a position where he doesn’t get dizzy anymore. Jeonghan doesn’t shake his head, or nod either. 

“If you ask me,” Jeonghan says, “he needs someone who has history with him, so they can put up with each other, or someone with a brain, like me for example, who could figure out what it is that he wants.” 

“But he might not be able to figure out what you want, so that still wouldn’t work, right?”

“Don’t worry, that was just an example,” Jeonghan tells him. “He also needs someone to fall in love with him, and I promise you that would never be me.”

“He’s so difficult,” Junhui says, scratching his head. “When he’s got _that_ heart, you know.”

Jeonghan shrugs. “It all comes from Jihoon’s inability to be honest about his desires towards another person, instead blindly hoping they’ll figure out what he wants so he doesn’t have to say it.”

The oscillating fan sputters before reversing direction. Jeonghan places his empty beer can on the hardwood floor.

“I wish he was more upfront,” Junhui says gloomily, resting his head against the back of the couch.

Jeonghan laughs out loud. “Don’t we all.”

“You’re so observant, I feel like I learn so much just from talking to you, hyung.”

Jeonghan looks like a Cheshire cat when he says gleefully, and completely seriously, “Next time I’ll charge you.”

“Hey,” Junhui whispers, caffeinated, exhausted and jetlagged. “What’s it like to love someone? How do you know when you do?”

Wonwoo rolls over and glances at the clock. “I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he mumbles. Junhui would normally give up after the first no.

“I need to know, Wonwoo.”

“Why do you think I’d know, Junnie.” 

“Because,” Junhui says, sandwiching a pillow under his arms, “you always know the right things to say— and you always save words in your heart that are beautiful and you pull them back out whenever the time is right. How do you just do that every time, for every concert.”

If Jihoon was here he’d say it’s because Wonwoo is pretentious. But there’s the thing. Jihoon writes lyrics.

“You do it too,” Wonwoo says after a moment, pulling the sheets back over his head. “Know the right things to say. You just don’t realize it.”

Junhui discovered before long that the hardest years provided the most growth. Irreplaceable losses (Mingming) and precious gains (Minghao). One summer rings fresh in his memory even now, dredging up the ache of endless flights and overlapping promotions. The weight of Yan An’s invisible burdens on his shoulders, too; those scars that still haven’t healed; giving up his earned place; Jieqiong having heard about it from a friend of a friend and simply saying it takes more strength to prioritize your loved ones over your ambitions— it’s not an easy decision to make.

Jieqiong chose to send this particular expression of sympathy through Minghao, which is curious to him considering she’s got just as much access to Junhui’s personal contacts. Minghao says it came up in conversation, and it seemed more sincere to have him convey the message in person rather than halfheartedly restate it without mood and context, or worse yet, screenshot her original texts. 

Even before this Minghao always found it easier to talk to her than Junhui did.

“This is the kind of view I want when I buy a beach house,” Minghao says. “Just nature, and not having to worry about other people and noises.” They’ve gone off on their own for tea at some spa resort Minghao found on Instagram, and being who he is he had to ask for a balcony table, too. A film camera is permanently stationed next to Junhui, even though he barely knows how to use it.

“Would you ever be able to stand living in the middle of nowhere? There are no high-end shops around here, you know, there’s nowhere to feed your insatiable hunger for clothes.”

“Kidding,” Minghao says with a flat smile, bested. “I didn’t mean literally.”

“Your lover will be very happy,” Junhui tells him, only half sarcastic. “To only have you for company.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Minghao looks even more amused.

“Well, nothing, really. If you both want that.”

“I think I would. You should know what you want,” Minghao says to Junhui, hands clasped together. “I think that would really help you.” Only Minghao can turn an afternoon tea time into a lecture session, and he’s the only one Junhui would forgive for doing that.

“I’m in your care,” Junhui replies cheekily.

After all of that Junhui realizes, maybe years too late, that there was more than one reason he was so troubled the night he found out they were dating. Ostensibly because it was weird, but beyond that, Jieqiong had been so easy to talk to that this felt like a loss of freedom with new barriers. And Jihoon was so difficult to see through that for those long, intermittent months, he became impossible to talk to.

**the heart and its relationship to home**

Junhui cannot take a place to a person, so he calls Wonwoo over and over again until he agrees to come with. The visit was meant to last two days, wedged in between Wonwoo’s last individual album photoshoot and their half-group variety appearance the day after they get back. Meticulously planned and not nearly as spontaneous as Jisoo’s trips, Junhui’s crammed the agenda full with places to eat at and things to see. Wonwoo is pleasantly surprised when he sees the printout on top of his keyboard, centered perfectly on his desk so there was no chance of him missing it.

“Seungcheol hyung told me you like to be planned for,” Junhui says when Wonwoo approaches him with the paper, sitting cross-legged on the eighth floor living room. During the same conversation Seungcheol had whined because he couldn’t come, his own work overlapping with Junhui’s days off. _You should have waited for me,_ he said, but Junhui couldn’t wait any longer. _I have to take the opportunities that I have to go back home, and I will bring you as soon as you’ll let me._

“Three and a half hours to Simcheon,” Wonwoo says, thumb on the flight time listing. “You weren’t lying.”

“It’s three,” Junhui insists. “You know they pad the time. The schedule looks good, right? Better than Seungcheol hyung’s and Jeonghan hyung’s?” He looks at Wonwoo expectantly.

“They did it for a show, this is a labor of love. But you did promise to show me all these things, I shouldn’t be the one doing the work.”

“You’re just lazy,” Junhui says, prodding him in the forearm. “But it’s no problem. I had doubts you’d go with me unless you had proof it would be more than hotels and room service.”

“How could I doubt you? When you care about something, it’s pretty obvious,” Wonwoo says, oblivious to the effects of his words on Junhui’s deep-seated insecurities, “and you work really hard until everyone knows that.”

Soonyoung and Wonwoo can’t stop talking about ghosts these days, so when Junhui hears mysterious noises in the dark on his way out of the practice room, he freezes momentarily in terror.

“Shit,” he hears across the hallway, and Junhui rests a hand on his chest. It’s just Jihoon.

Junhui enters the storage room and finds him banging around under the desk with the broken leg, partially masked by the chair haphazardly pushed aside. Jihoon twists his head around and raises his eyebrows in acknowledgment.

“Oh, I’m glad you’re back from your trip.”

“Really?” Junhui looks suddenly pleased with himself, as if he’d done something right in the eyes of someone important.

“Don’t read into it, Junhui.” Jihoon rolls his eyes.

“What are you doing on the floor?”

“Lost a jumpdrive,” Jihoon replies, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Was spinning it between my fingers,” he says in response to Junhui’s skeptical, odd-looking expression. “You know how it goes.”

“Hmm,” Junhui says. He is in the storage room after all.

“Are you sad to be back here?”

“Here is where you are,” Junhui says, voice blown up with confidence. “How could I be sad after seeing that face?”

Jihoon scowls. “Don’t be so serious, Jun.” 

“Who said I was being serious?”

Jihoon stares at him for a little too long.

“I guess you weren’t, then.” He crawls back under the desk. “I still haven’t found it.”

“Maybe I just like making people feel important, have you ever thought of that?” Junhui asks. “Do you think I should stop?”

“I see why people love you,” Jihoon says, facing away. “I like you for who you are.”

Junhui had an entire comeback planned about how he’d do what he wanted and couldn’t be stopped. Never mind that. “Do you want some help?” he asks.

“Oh, there it is.” A dusty flash drive whirls across the floor, landing against the sole of Junhui’s left shoe.

“What’s on it?”

“Inspiration...?” He squints at it, trying to remember exactly. “Past videos.” Jihoon stands up. “Memories.”

"I think you're wonderful," Junhui says, and Jihoon looks back at him, blinking lazily. 

“That came out of nowhere.”

When he sees Jihoon's face he thinks of how badly he wants to make a mistake right now. 

“Hey—” 

“I probably still love her,” Jihoon says, sharply. _I know what you want to do,_ his voice in Junhui’s head says, _and I don’t want you to do it._

“Your words mean a lot to me,” Junhui says instead. He looks down at the ground. Jihoon nods, a wistful sadness in his eyes.

**honesty in its fullest, impossible form**

Junhui doesn’t have excuses to see her either. But funnily enough, he meets her again somewhere else in Seoul. It’s at Yixing’s birthday party, a modest function to the point that Junhui didn’t know who to expect in attendance besides Minghao, and a celebration of return. It feels poetic that Jieqiong would come back into his life at the same time. It had been so long since she left, after all.

When the news had first come out Soonyoung had been beside him on the couch, surprised at what he was seeing. “I had no idea Kyulkyung was leaving the company,” he told Junhui. Junhui hadn’t known, but he wasn’t surprised.

“Wen Junhui,” she says easily, like she’d never been gone, sidling up to the bar counter. Junhui, for his part, doesn’t falter despite the shock.

“I never expected to see you here,” he says, and leans in to hug her. “I thought you were gone forever.”

“Sometimes you have to spare no expense to see the ones you love,” Jieqiong says and sighs, eyes twinkling mischievously, like the light against her crystal earrings. Junhui doesn’t know who she’s talking about.

“They must be thrilled to see you,” Junhui says.

“It’s good to see you too, Junhui.” Again he doesn’t know how to read it— “You’re doing great work, here and there,” she says, and she talks way too fast like she used to. “I see your face in China even when you haven’t told me you came.” Junhui has the decency to look guilty about it.

“Have to represent,” he says with a cheeky hand wave. “You’re doing super well, we’re proud of you.”

“We?” she asks, and her unjustified incredulous look is just like Minghao’s. Junhui declines to elaborate.

“How long will you stay here?”

“Here, the party?” She tilts her head. “Maybe another hour or two, depending on—” 

“No, I mean in South Korea.”

“Ah,” Jieqiong says. “I’m not sure yet. I haven’t picked my next project, there are some scripts back in my suite. But I’d like to take a break. I’m here for a photoshoot, but it was more of an excuse, if you get that.”

“To catch up, then.”

“Yes, catch up with everyone. It’s really nice to be back here, though my Korean has gotten so rusty it’s a bit embarrassing, honestly.”

She sips some wine and he thinks about illicit trips to the convenience store, run-ins and meetups, and like she can read his mind Jieqiong’s eyes cloud over, like she’s gone to some faraway place in the past. He used to envy her for the speed at which she’d pick up new words in Korean, but since then everything’s flipped on its head.

“You’re back,” Junhui says. “For the season.”

Jieqiong smiles. “It’s my second home.”

Renjun enters the hall from the other side of the room in Chanyeol’s shadow and Junhui makes a mental note to ruffle his hair later. “I’m glad.”

“Do you remember the last time we spoke?” Jieqiong asks.

“In person?” Junhui remembers because there was a Weibo post he’d wanted to show her so he could see if she’d laugh, but there was never a next time. He has the photo saved somewhere, still.

“I had a feeling then it would be the last time I’d see you for a while, though I couldn’t tell you,” she says. “There was also something else I wanted to tell you, and could have, but I was too afraid to.”

Junhui looks at her carefully. “Can you say it now?”

“The window for that has long come and gone. It’s all in the past anyway,” she says, and whatever it is, Junhui can’t help but think of Jihoon, who hasn’t let go.

“We should keep in touch and try harder to stay in it,” Junhui says, stricken. “And don’t go without saying goodbye, this time.”

Jieqiong stretches her arms wide. “I learned the hard way it hurts too much to do that.”

“I’m glad that you’re staying for a while.”

“My heart is here,” she says. “My youth was here, too.” She’s in that faraway place again.

“You loved him, right?” Junhui asks her suddenly.

In the background someone changes the music to a noisier genre. “Of course I did, Junhui. I wouldn’t have devoted myself to someone I didn’t love.” 

Junhui laughs softly. “Of course you wouldn’t.” He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt and leans against the table, looking out at the crowd.

Jieqiong sighs again. “It doesn’t mean he was all I wanted.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [@haengseol](https://twitter.com/haengseol) (main) / [@likewaterising](https://twitter.com/likewaterising) (writing)


End file.
